Chapter Text
- fall -
your love lingers,
caught in the crevices,
stuck in the in-betweens,
where auburn leaves fall,
and the last note of summer slips away.
Taehyung could get used to nights like this.
It’s two am, the early chill of fall kept at bay by the crackling of the fire. Jimin is curled up next to him on one of Namjoon’s couches, the one they found abandoned outside the thrift shop. Neither of them are talking; there’s no need. Instead they sit quietly, fingers intertwined, and watch as Hoseok tries to tune Yoongi’s old guitar while the owner of said old guitar shakes his head in disappointment.
“Hopeless,” he mutters, looking down at where Jungkook’s passed out in his lap. “Joon-ah, pass me a smoke.”
Namjoon, who’s mid conversation with Seokjin about who knows what, does, digging around in his pocket for the near empty box, all the while tactfully ignoring the disapproving look the elder sends him.
“It’s the last one,” he says and Yoongi nods, pulling out his lighter.
“Fine by me.”
Taehyung likes being like this. He likes the constant weight of someone pressed up against his side, likes the warmth of being drunk but not wasted, likes the feeling of a bottle in his hand, green glass resting comfortably on his thigh. He even likes the smell of smoke when it mixes with the wretched scent of whatever cheap alcohol Yoongi managed to get his hands on. It clings to Tae’s clothes in a way that makes him feel safe, makes him feel protected even long after the night’s already over.
“Anyways, it’s just frustrating, Hyung.” Namjoon’s attention has shifted away from Yoongi and back to Seokjin, who’s nodding along as Namjoon speaks. A red solo cup hangs idly from his long fingers, full and untouched. Seokjin’s never been much of a drinker meaning he barely drinks at all. Taehyung doesn’t think he’s ever seen him more than slightly tipsy and even that’s a rarity. “Everything would be so much easier if they only listened .”
“Oh, please,” Yoongi snorts, leaning over to take the cup from Seokjin’s hand, careful not to jostle Jungkook. “Like they’d listen to people like us.”
“You’ve had enough, Yoongi,” Seokjin says, but as always, lets him have it without further protest. “I’ll send another email,” he tells Namjoon. “In the meantime, don’t worry about it, kay Joon-ah? Hyung’s got it.” He turns towards Hoseok. “The same goes for you, Hobi.”
“Thanks, Hyung,” Hoseok slurs, flashing a quick thumbs up before returning to fiddle with Yoongi’s old guitar. “You’re the best.”
“It won’t change anything,” Yoongi argues, sipping from Seokjin’s cup. “Nothing’s going to change.”
“It will.” Seokjin’s mouth tightens into a determined line. Resting his head on Tae’s shoulder, Jimin yawns sleepily. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“Sure, Hyung,” is all Yoongi says, disbelief evident. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
The rest of the night passes by in a blur. Seokjin grows quieter. Yoongi gets louder. Jungkook stirs, then slips back into sleep. Someone replaces Tae’s bottle. Later, when the sun’s threatening to rise and Taehyung’s the only one left awake, still sitting on Namjoon’s battered old couch, eyes half closed and shoulder numb because Jimin hasn’t moved in hours, he’ll watch as Seokjin struggles to carry both Namjoon and Jungkook inside the boxcar, throwing both of them over his shoulders like they’re stacks of potatoes even though it be easier to take them separately. Kookie, who's drifting somewhere between consciousness and sleep, giggles. Seokjin moves Hoseok next, followed by Yoongi, who protests, but only barely. After Yoongi, Seokjin lifts Jimin off of Taehyung and then finally returns for Tae, pulling him to his feet with surprising ease.
“Hyung…” Taehyung starts to say, but Seokjin is quick to hush him.
“Shhh, go back to sleep,” he murmurs, wrapping his one hand around Taehyung’s waist, the other pulling Tae’s arm so it rests on the other side of Seokjin's neck. “Hyung’s got you.” Tae nods, leaning his head tiredly against Seokjin's shoulder.
Yes, he thinks, as the two of them stumble back into the place Namjoon calls home. He could get used to this.
“Come on.”
“No way.”
“It’s the nice thing to do, Young-ah.”
“I don’t care. He probably doesn’t even know who you are. Also I hate him.”
“That’s nice. I’m going to invite him anyway.”
“Wait, don’t–”
“Taehyung-ssi! Taehyung-ssi! Hey!” Tae glances up from his book, some cheesy romance Hoseok swears by, to see a girl waving excitedly as she drags her friends his way. She looks to be about his age, wears a school uniform similar to his own, but Taehyung has no idea who she is. “You are Kim Taehyung, right?” In response, Tae nods slowly, racking his brain for any reason why this girl would be talking to him. “It’s so good to see you!” The girl smiles, staring expectantly. Taehyung squirms under her gaze.
“Sorry, but do I know you?” he asks once the silence carries for too long. The girl’s smile widens. Her front two teeth are crooked.
“Of course you do! We’re in the same class, remember? I sit in front of you?” Taehyung nods, hoping to hide the fact he still has no clue who this girl is.
“Right. Right.” The girl beams at him. “ And your name is?” The girl opens her mouth to reply, but is interrupted.
“Shouldn’t you know that?” One of the girl's friends says, glaring. “Jiwoo, I told you he wouldn’t remember.” She rolls her eyes, mouth split into a condescending smirk. “How embarrassing.” Taehyung’s ears burn with discomfort.
“Soonyoung,” someone else hisses. The friend, Soonyoung, simpy shrugs, pushing her bangs out of her eyes.
“Am I wrong?” She locks eyes with Taehyung, daring him to say otherwise. “You should at least know who sits in front of you.”
“It’s alright! Really! We haven’t really spoken before after all,” Jiwoo says, in an attempt to salvage the situation. She reaches towards him, bringing her hand to rest on his shoulder. Taehyung stiffens. “Besides, we know each other now, so it’s all good. Right, Taehyung-ssi?”
“Right,” he says, hoping it’ll placate her and she’ll go away, taking her hoard of friends with her. “Of course.”
“See, Soonyoung?” Jiwoo squeezes Taehyung’s shoulder. “Anyways, Taehyung-ssi, I wanted to ask, are you doing anything today? If not, a bunch of us are going to the new arcade at the mall,” Jiwoo says. “You should come with us.” Taehyung shakes his head, confused on why she even bothered to ask.
“I can’t." Soonyoung scoffs. For the first time, Jiwoo’s smile flickers, if only for a moment.
“Would you say yes if I were Park Jimin?” Soonyoung says suddenly. Taehyung frowns, confusion shifting to something else.
“What did you say?” he asks.
“I said, would you say yes if I were Park Jimin. You know, if I was filthy fucking rich. You’d say yes then?” Taehyung’s hands tighten into fists. His eyes darken, anger twisting in his stomach.
“Soonyoung!” It’s the same girl as earlier. Her face is red. “You can’t just say that!”
“Sure I can. Come on, Nari. You know the rumours as well as I.” Soonyoung raises her chin. “The only question is, are they true? I think so.”
“Soonyoung, enough.” Jiwoo looks mortified. “I’m so sorry for her, Taehyung-ssi. Really, she’s not usually like this.” Taehyung looks away. He takes a deep breath.
“It’s fine,” he says eventually, because Jiwoo seems nice enough and it’s not her fault she has poor choices in friends. He looks over at Soonyoung who crosses her arms. “I don’t care what you say about me, but don’t talk about Jimin like that.” He takes another deep breath. “Also I really can’t hang out today. I have plans.”
“Ditch your plans.” The boy who spoke looks remarkably similar to Jiwoo. A cigarette hangs from his mouth. It’s a different brand from the ones Namjoon usually buys, something more expensive. “This’ll be more fun.” Taehyung shakes his head again. “If you’re worried about Soonyoung, don’t. Nari won’t let her run her mouth.” The girl Taehyung presumes is Nari nods seriously.
“No, thank you.” The boy opens his mouth to argue, but Jiwoo cuts him off.
“Jihoon,” she scolds, then turns her attention back towards Taehyung. “I understand. Still, I want us to be friends. Did you want to maybe hang out another time?” Before he can answer with a sound no, a big, black truck comes tearing past them, far too close to the curb. Jiwoo squeals, leaping back as water splashes up, but it’s no use. For his part, Taehyung simply accepts fate and lets it hit him, careful not to wreck Hoseok’s novel.
“Oi! What the hell!” Soonyoung shouts at the truck, which has stopped in the middle of the road.
“Kim Taehyung, get your ass over here!” Yoongi yells, half out the passenger window. His hair is shockingly bright, a bright mint colour courtesy of Namjoon. “Don't think we won't leave without you!”
Taehyung doubts that. Still he leaps to his feet, water squishing between his toes.
“Kim Taehyung!” Tae flips him off. Yoongi cackles.
“Got to go,” he says and he can’t help but grin. Jiwoo stares bewildered. “See you in class.”
“Who was that?” Seokjin asks once Taehyung’s safely in the back seat. Hoseok and Jimin are already there, the former asleep in the latter’s lap. “Your friends?” He sounds hopeful. Jimin gasps.
“Are you replacing us, Taetae?” He clutches his heart dramatically. “How could you?”
“Yeah, Tae. How could you?” Yoongi repeats dryly. “No snacks for you.” Despite that, a colourful plastic package still finds its way onto Taehyung’s lap. He tears it open hungrily, shivering ever so slightly. “Can you turn up the heat, Hyung? Tae’s soaking wet.”
“You know as well as I do, that my heater doesn’t work.” Seokjin sighs, slowing to a stop as the light turns red. “You were the one who insisted on splashing him.”
“Did you not see that girl's face? Priceless.” Yoongi leans down, searching for something by his feet. After about twenty seconds, he throws a fuzzy orange blanket into the back seat. “Here. I think it’s Kookie’s.” Tae smiles gratefully, carefully arranging the blanket so it covers him, Jimin, and Hoseok.
“So.” Seokjin accelerates, the engine rumbling obnoxiously. “Were those your friends?”
"Not really," Taehyung says, thinking of Soonyoung and the way she talked about Jimin. Like he was worthless, like Taehyung only hung around him for his money.
“What do you mean, Tae?”
“Well–”
“Geez, Hyung, quit your nagging” Yoongi interrupts, exasperated. Once again, gratitude washes over Taehyung. “You sound like his mother.” It’s like Taehyung can hear the eye roll. “How was school, Taehyung? Are those your friends, Taehyung? Did you eat your vegetables, Taehyung?” Yoongi pitches up his voice, his tone teasing and it’s so silly, Taehyung can’t help but laugh.
“Hah hah. Very funny,” Seokjin huffs, but he’s smiling so Tae knows he’s not actually mad. “Better watch it or I’ll make you all walk to Joonie’s.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” Yoongi says. “You love us too much.” Seokjin doesn’t argue.
The first time Namjoon and Tae get arrested, Taehyung’s afraid.
They’re sitting in the back of a cop car, Namjoon casting him the occasional guilty look. This is his fault after all. It was him who bought the paint, him who invited Tae out with the promise of a good time. And he wasn’t wrong. It was fun. But now, the adrenaline has worn off, the earlier high is gone, and all that’s left is the fear because oh god, what if they call his dad? Kim Jae-seong will kill him, will beat Taehyung until he’s black and blue without hesitation.
“Tae,” Namjoon whispers. He was smiling earlier, even as the cops pinned him to the car. He’s not smiling now. “It’s gonna be okay.” Tae bites his lip. He’s shaking.
“Promise?” Namjoon nods. He reaches over, taking Taehyung’s trembling hands into his own.
“I promise.” Relief floods his stomach, though it doesn’t quite ease the anxiety. Namjoon never breaks his promises. If he says, they’ll be alright, then they’ll be alright. “Hyung’s got it under control. Trust me.” And Tae does. He trusts Namjoon more than anyone, more than Jimin and more than Yoongi and even more than Seokjin.
It’s Namjoon who Taehyung calls when his dad is too much, when he needs to hide, when he needs help. It’s Namjoon who always picks up, who stays on the phone, even after the danger has passed. It’s Namjoon who shows up, sweaty and out of breath because he lives on the other side of town and doesn’t have a car, to drag Tae out of that house. It’s Namjoon who saves him, everytime, without fail.
“Okay.” Namjoon’s smile is back. It’s different than earlier; less wild and more soft, more kind. He squeezes Tae’s hand tight.
“I won’t let you down,” he says and Taehyung knows he means it.
The sparklers are Hoseok’s idea.
He brings it up one night, when the seven of them are crammed into Yoongi’s tiny apartment. It’s a disaster inside; streamers thrown carelessly about, empty solo cups and cheap party favours lying forgotten on the ground. At some point, Namjoon had brought out the spray paint and now the walls are a strange mix of red and black.
“Hyung,” Hoseok says. “Hyung, come sit.” He pulls Yoongi into his lap, resting his chin on the elder’s shoulder. “Hyung, we should get fireworks.”
Taehyung, who till this moment, was sitting quietly in the old wheelchair that he thinks might have once been Jimin’s while Joon puts green streaks in his hair, looks up. He’s always liked watching fireworks, always liked seeing the bright colours exploding into the sky like a flower in bloom.
“Oooh, I second that.” Jimin says. He glances over at Tae. “What do you think, Taetae?”
“Absolutely,” he responds, eyes alight, excitement already beginning to build. “Can we please, Yoongi-hyung?”
“Taehyung, sit still,” Namjoon scolds, but his words go unheard. Yoongi crosses arms, leaning back into Hoseok who looks very pleased with himself. He sighs.
“Kookie, could you pass me the TV remote?” Jungkook, who's been dutifully watching the whole interaction unfold from his spot on Jimin’s lap, shakes his head.
“Only if you say yes,” he says and Yoongi sighs. An unlit cigarette hangs from his lips.
“It’s up to Seokjin-hyung.” Five heads turn quickly towards the kitchen where Seokjin sits. At first, he says nothing, just keeps stirring his microwaved oatmeal while they all stare at him. He’s doing what he does best after all; pretending as if he’s carefully contemplating their request while watching them squirm with impatient anticipation.
“Hyung,” Namjoon says finally. He's gone back to massaging dye into Tae’s hair. “What do you think?” Seokjin takes a bite of his mushy oats, humming thoughtfully.
“I don’t see why not.” Taehyung cheers, clapping his hands excitedly. Jungkook and Jimin leap to their feet, ignoring Seokjin’s protests as they practically launch themselves at him.
“You’re the best, Hyung.” Hoseok beams, wrapping his arms tighter around Yoongi, who only leans closer. “Now where are we going to find fireworks?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Yoongi grins in that way which means they should definitely worry about it. “Give me a week.”
It doesn’t take a week. Three days later, Yoongi shows up at the rail yard with that same mischievous smile on his face and an armful of explosives. Taehyung doesn’t know where he got them from. He’s not sure he wants to know. Seokjin certainly doesn’t.
Wherever Yoongi got them from, it was definitely illegal, Tae notes as Namjoon helps him stow the fireworks under the boxcar. But most things they do are. Jimin shoplifts like it’s nothing. Namjoon and Tae vandalize whatever they can get their hands on. Hell, Seokjin has bailed Yoongi out of jail more times then Taehyung can count. All of them drink and while few of them smoke, those who do have done it for far longer than they’ve been allowed to. Safe to say, the law and them aren’t really friends, so when Yoongi asks Joon to hide the fireworks, no one questions it.
That night they all pile onto Namjoon’s ancient couch and watch the darkness around them come to life. It’s loud, their laughter mixing with the sound of explosions. Tae throws his head back, carefree and young. In this moment, there are no bruises painting the skin hidden carefully under his clothes. In this moment, Hobi’s not sick and Jimin’s not lying and Yoongi’s not sad and Namjoon’s not living in an old rail yard and Jungkook isn’t struggling at school and Seokjin’s not stressed out about something he won’t say. In this moment they are happy.
“Hey, Joonie-hyung!” Taehyung shouts, wild with glee. Namjoon turns towards him just as Yoongi sets off another firework. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Namjoon’s smile widens. Above them, the night sky turns gold. Taehyung laughs.
Right now, they’re untouchable.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a familiar voice says as he walks into the near empty music room. “What are you drawing?” Jungkook peers over Taehyung’s shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of Tae’s paper. It’s just the two of them at school today; Jimin’s home sick and their hyungs have long since graduated. “Hyung,” Jungkook, whines. His own sketchbook is clutched tight to his chest. Taehyung’s never seen inside it, he’s pretty sure no one has except maybe Yoongi. Tae doesn’t mind. Jungkook’s art is Jungkook’s art and if wants to share it, he will. “Hyung, tell me.”
“I don’t know.” Taehyung sets down his pen. Art for him has always been careless, nothing more than graffiti on the wall. “A bird, I think.” Jungkook nods as if this makes perfect sense, as if the smudge of dark ink on the page couldn’t be anything but a bird.
“It’s very pretty,” Jungkook says, staring with that childish innocence the rest of them lack. He’s so young, too young to have such dark circles under his eyes. Have you been having nightmares again, Taehyung wants to ask. Instead, he says nothing. “You did a good job, Hyung.” Jungkook reaches out, tracing the outline of the maybe-bird. Taehyung’s gaze follows his hand and suddenly it’s all very clear to him. He can see the sharp beak, the strong wings, and every other minute detail down to each individual feather. He wonders how he could have missed it before. “I like it.”
“You can have it,” Taehyung says. He picks up the paper, careful not to wrinkle it because even though he doesn’t care, Jungkook does, and holds it up for Kookie to take. “It’s just going to end up in the trash anyways.”
“Wow. You sure know how to make me feel special.” But he takes it anyway, tucking it in between the pages of his sketchbook. Quiet settles over them, the comfortable kind, the kind that you could drown in and never notice. Taehyung goes back to drawing, doodling nonsense while Jungkook watches. Then, “Yoongi’s teaching me a new song.”
“On the piano?”
“Yeah.”
“Cool. What song?” Tae asks. Jungkook shrugs.
“I dunno. It’s about a butterfly.” Taehyung stares. Jungkook offers no further explanation. “I can’t really describe it.” He pauses. “It sorta reminds me of you.”
Taehyung’s waiting by the doors to Seokjin’s apartment building when he hears the pounding of feet.
“Tae, run!” A hand grabs his wrist, dragging him to his feet before he’s even had time to think. Jimin’s grip is light, careful to not hurt Taehyung in any way, but firm enough that Taehyung is forced to run along with him unless he wants his arm pulled off. “I said run! We can’t let him catch us!”
“PARK JIMIN, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!” Seokjin roars. Taehyung glances over his shoulder to see their oldest friend sprinting after them. Jimin doesn’t seem nearly as concerned as he should be, tossing his head back and cackling.
“What did you do?” Taehyung shouts. He’s speeding up, adrenaline kicking in because he doesn’t have a death wish. Jimin laughs harder, but doesn’t let up. They’re side by side now, an angry Seokjin hot on their heels.
“I stole his keys!”
“What?”
“PARK JIMIN!” Taehyung braves another look back. Further back he can see Hoseok and Namjoon racing towards them, presumably to stop Seokjin from doing anything drastic after he inevitably catches them.
“I stole his keys!” Jimin’s gleeful. Taehyung’s muscles burn.
“Jimin, you can’t drive!” They take a hard right. The streets are empty late at night, society hidden peacefully away in the apartments above.
“Yoongi can.” Yoongi? Yoongi isn’t even here. He’s with Jungkook at the old music store where he works. Right?
“Jimin,” Tae says, but before he can continue a blur in the shape of a man goes shooting past him. Taehyung blinks.
“I thought you two were faster than that!” Yoongi shouts, voice hoarse and out of breath, Jungkook right behind him.
“Come on, Hyungs! If they catch us, we’re dead!” he says, not even a little out of breath. Taehyung and Jimin exchange a glance.
What are you planning , Tae asks silently.
Don’t worry about it , Jimin answers, cocking his head. Taehyung smiles.
He runs faster.
Most days it’s far too cold to be outside.
It’s too cold and their clothes are too thin, threadbare hoodies and jeans worn in the knees. A few weeks earlier, when winter was just creeping in, they could get away with it. Today though, Tae wishes he had something warmer. A big puffy coat, perhaps. An ugly one that would make him look like a marshmallow.
He knows if he asks Jimin, Jimin’ll get him one without a second thought. He’s already pawned off a couple jackets onto Jungkook, claiming they’re too big even though Jungkook isn’t that much taller. Jungkook, however, is still too innocent to see through the obvious lie. He’s wearing one of the jackets now, the bright yellow offering a colourful contrast to the bleak world around them.
Tae could have one too, if he swallowed his pride. But he can’t accept the handout, can’t take what Jimin would willingly give. He thinks back to Soonyoung, her biting words and thinly veiled accusations. It’s no secret that the Parks are loaded. It’s old money, or dirty money as Jimin likes to call it. Money his parents never had to work for. He hates it. Before, Taehyung didn’t really understand. Money is money after all. He understands now.
“I know I’m beyond privileged. I mean, really. I have everything I could ever want,” Jimin had said, words slurring together. They were only fifteen then, at some house party hosted by one of Hoseok’s now ex best friends. Taehyung was only there for the alcohol. He didn’t expect to see Park Jimin surrounded by all the kids who made Taehyung’s life miserable, didn’t expect to spend the evening sitting out by the pool sipping cheap liquor from the same cup. They barely knew each other after all. But Jimin had spotted Taehyung the moment he walked in, had waved him over, and then later, dragged him outside. If it was anyone else, Taehyung would have refused. But Jimin never ignored him like the rest, always smiled at him in the halls, even went as far to try and include him in his conversations.
Plus, Jimin had looked so miserable standing there, surrounded by people who were so clearly sucking up to him. He was looking for an escape and Taehyung had given him one. The moment they stepped outside, his smile became less forced, his shoulders less tense. Now, nearly an hour later, he was perfectly relaxed, feet dangling just above the water below.
“It’s just, everyone’s so fake. You know?” Taehyung nodded because even though he doesn’t completely understand, he’s heard how people talk about Jimin when he’s not around. He’s a pretty trophy, something to be used and then discarded. “All they care about is what I can do for them.” Jimin sniffed. He sounded dangerously close to crying. “And it’s not that I mind treating people! I don’t. But every time I think someone likes me for me, I get proven wrong.” He rubbed his eyes. “God, I sound pathetic.”
“You don’t.” Jimin laughed. It made Taehyung’s heart hurt.
“I definitely do.” Jimin shook his head. “I mean, seriously. You’ve listened to me whine for what, twenty minutes now?”
“Thirty,” Taehyung corrected. Jimin took a long sip from their cup.
“Yeah, see. Pathetic. If I were you, I’d be sick of me.”
“I don’t mind listening to you,” Tae said, taking the cup and downing the rest of what’s inside it. A minute passed. “I like you” Jimin laughed again, the same hollow laugh from before.
“Sure you do.”
“I do!” Jimin crossed his arms. It’s cute.
“Prove it.” Taehyung started with the obvious.
“Your name is Park Jimin. Your birthday is October 13th." Jimin opened his mouth, but Tae cut him off. "You don’t like spinach. Two weeks ago you fell off your chair during lunch break and thought no one noticed, but I did. It made me laugh.” Taehyung paused again, considering what other facts to add to his drunken ramble about all things Park Jimin. “You like to dance. Ballet, specifically. You’re very good by the way.” He looked up. Jimin was staring at him, bewildered and shocked. Taehyung looked away, embarrassment creeping in.
“What? How? Why? Huh?” he said helplessly. Taehyung shrugged as if that made any sense. He wondered if Jimin would leave now, leave him sitting alone with only an empty cup as company.
“I told you, I like you. You’re the only one who talks to me, you know. People think I’m weird.” Taehyung felt a hand on his. It was his turn to stare, surprise written all over his face, as Jimin intertwined their fingers.
“You are weird.” Jimin smiled. “I like that. Friends?” Tae nodded.
“Friends.” And that’s the beginning of everything.
It’s thanks to Jimin they find the others. Jimin is who first brings them to the old pool a few years ago, one afternoon when the seven of them are supposed to be cleaning the old music room as a punishment for whatever crimes against the school they committed. It turns out ditching detention to explore the forest next to the school will always seem like the better option, even if the people you’re with are a bunch of strangers.
Now Taehyung lies on the aging mattress, the one Seokjin tells them to stay away from because who knows how long it’s been there, Jimin and Kookie on either side of him. Second period should’ve started by now. If his sister knew he was here instead of in class, she’d be furious. But she doesn’t know, won’t know until later tonight or maybe tomorrow, whenever Taehyung decides to go home and has to see their dad.
He’s not thinking of that now. Seokjin and the others will be here soon. Above him, the birds sing. A gust of wind bites through Tae’s clothes. He presses closer to Jimin.
“Jiminie?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think it’s going to snow?” Jimin considers this.
“I hope not,” he says. “Because that means winter’s here.”
“What do you mean, Hyung?” Jungkook asks, because he’s still soft around the edges. But Taehyung understands. After winter, comes spring. Spring brings change.
And change is not always good.
Taehyung’s father comes home for the first time in three weeks on the twenty-ninth of December, ten minutes before midnight. Taehyung’s asleep when he stumbles in, doesn’t hear the front door open, the ancient hinges creaking in warning. No, it's his sister’s voice that wakes him, hushed whispers desperately trying to soothe a man they're both terrified of.
“Appa, you need to rest,” she’s saying, pleading, begging. She doesn’t ask where he’s been, doesn’t ask why he’s finally come back or what happened to the money he took. She knows. They all know. “Appa, come on.”
“Where’s your brother?” His father’s words are almost indecipherable, syllables slurring together until three words become one. Taehyung opens his eyes, just barely. His sister has her arms around their father’s shoulders, trying to guide him to his room.
“He’s sleeping. You can see him in the morning, let’s just go to bed.” His father shakes his head, pushing Taehyung’s sister off of him with ease. He staggers towards Taehyung, clumsy steps echoing throughout the small room.
“A boy should greet his father.”
“Appa, please.”
“Did you hear that?” His father is just inches away now. Taehyung shuts his eyes, shuts them so tight he swears he can see the stars. “Huh?” Tae gasps as he’s yanked upwards, his father’s fingers gripping his collar. “Answer me boy.”
“Hello,” Taehyung says quietly. He doesn’t look at him, instead keeping his gaze carefully trained at the floor.
His father doesn’t like that. Before Tae can even register what’s happening, he’s been thrown to the floor, hands outstretched in an attempt to break his fall.
“Disrespectful brat,” his father spits. For the first time that night, Taehyung raises his head. His eyes burn with fear and loathing as he slowly gets to his feet, fingers clenched tight into fists. “Someone ought to teach you some manners.” The hand is pulling back, is winding up, but Taehyung will not flinch. Not this time.
One of these days, I kill him, Tae tells himself afterwards, his sister fretting over his bruises while their father sleeps a few feet away. It’s an empty promise. At the end of the day, Taehyung still fears his father more than he hates him.
“You should stay with a friend for a few days.” Tae blinks. His sister carefully finishes dabbing ointment under his eye before screwing the cap back onto the well worn bottle. “I’ll be fine here on my own.”
“You sure?” he asks. His sister smiles.
“Of course. You don’t have to worry about me.” She kisses the top of his head. “Sleep here tonight, then find somewhere else to stay in the morning, kay?”
“Call me if you need me,” Taehyung says. She nods.
“I will," she says even though they both know she won't. "Now go to bed.”
“Sing me a song," he asks, lying back down. His sister smiles.
"Okay."
That night, Taehyung dreams of freedom and fire and blood on his hands.
The next day, they all go to the park.
It's one of the warmer days of winter. Well, the word warmer is generous. Just because it's warm enough they might not freeze to death, doesn't mean it's not still really fucking cold out. Unsurprisingly, the seven of them are the only ones stupid enough to be here; the late December wind is more than enough to keep any of the more sensible people away. No one in their right mind would be out right now. It’s a fight to even get Yoongi to leave the house.
“This is ridiculous,” he grumbles, crossing his arms. “You can’t even see the stars in the city.”
“We’re making memories, Hyung,” Jungkook says. He’s dressed warmly in Jimin’s hand-me-downs.
“Yeah, Hyung,” Taehyung chimes, pulling the blanket he stole from Hoseok tighter around his shoulders. “We’re making memories.”
“Fuck making memories. It’s cold out.”
“That’s why we brought…” Jungkook rummages in his bag for a minute, before pulling out the world’s most atrocious looking puffy jacket. Where he found it, Tae doesn’t know. Still he can’t help but laugh at the look of sheer horror on Yoongi’s face. “This!”
“Absolutely not," Yoongi says. Jungkook crosses his arms.
“Come on, Hyung. You’ll look cute.”
“Yeah,” Taehyung says. “Like a little kitten.” It’s worth the glare sent his way.
“No way,” Yoongi says. His resolve doesn’t last long. In less than half an hour, they’re all sitting in the park, buried under every blanket Seokjin could possibly find, waiting for the sun to set. Tae’s pressed tight in between Namjoon and Jimin, the former sipping hot chocolate from some old thermos that he thinks belongs to Hoseok. Yoongi, for all his complaining, is animatedly talking with Seokjin while Jungkook listens intently. Hoseok has already passed out, head resting in Jimin’s lap. There won’t be any star gazing for him.
“For the last time, Hyung,” Yoongi says. “You can’t see the stars here. There’s too much pollution.”
“Memories, Yoongi, memories,” is all Seokjin has to say on the matter.
“Memories of what? Freezing our asses off?”
“Memories of you in that horrible jacket,” Namjoon says, snickering. Yoongi scowls, shooting him an annoyed look.
“Don’t be a brat, Joon-ah.”
“Sorry, Hyung.” He doesn’t sound very sorry. “You look very dashing.”
“That jacket is hideous though. Really where’d you get it?” The sun has almost disappeared completely, is just a sliver of light barely visible against the ever darkening sky. Tae sighs, leaning his head against Jimin’s shoulder.
“Tired?” Jimin asks. Taehyung nods. Beside them, the others are still bickering, playful as ever. It’s comforting in a strange way.
“My dad came home last night.” A soft sound escapes Jimin’s mouth. “I didn't sleep much.”
“Are you okay?” Tae shrugs. He thinks of the bruises under his coat, the cut beside his eye.
“It's nothing I can't handle," he says.
“If you say so,” Jimin says, doubt evident in his voice. He opens his mouth, like he's going to say more, then closes it again. Tae doesn't say anything. A minute passes. “Hey, Tae?” It's hardly louder than a whisper. Taehyung turns his head. In the dimming light, he can just make out Jimin's face.
“Yeah?”
“You know I love you right?”
“Yeah. I love you too.” Tae closes his eyes, burrowing himself closer into Jimin’s side, careful not to wake Hoseok. The silence falls over them. Yoongi is still complaining about something, Jungkook laughing softly in his quiet way, but Taehyung’s not really listening. It’s just background noise, a familiar lullaby he knows by heart.
“Taetae?” Jimin says again.
“Mmhmm.”
“I'm serious. You're my best friend.” The conversation stops. Taehyung opens his eyes. He picks up his head, leaning back so he can look at Jimin. Not for the first time, he notices how thin he is.
“You're mine,” Taehyung says seriously. Jimin smiles, bright and content. He wraps an arm around Taehyung, pulling him back down onto his shoulder.
“Happy birthday,” he says and even though it’s freezing outside, Taehyung’s never felt more warm.
your love lingers,
like liquor and cigarette stains,
stolen youth and second hand smoke.
i think i’m addicted,
drunk on something long lost.